


Pure Confusion

by Oddfellow



Series: Stuck in the Past [1]
Category: R.E.M. (Band)
Genre: College, Friends to Lovers, LSD, M/M, Rating will go up in later chapters, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddfellow/pseuds/Oddfellow
Summary: If it wasn't quite love at first sight, it was at least fascination. Intrigue. They spent enough time hanging out, getting closer and closer, both physically and mentally. But the more time they spent together, the less certain each man became about the exact nature of his feelings towards the other...
Relationships: Peter Buck/Michael Stipe
Series: Stuck in the Past [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932586
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Pure Confusion

Neither of them was quite sure why the two of them always wound up in Peter's bedroom every night.

For Peter Buck, the answer was simple enough: it was his room, and he slept there. For Michael Stipe, the reasoning was less clear. It may have been pure force of habit that kept drawing him back every night, the same way he kept habitually dropping in at Wuxtry on certain days of the week after his classes had ended, to say hi to Peter and see what he was listening to. Michael had hung out in Peter's room the first night he had moved into the Church, therefore, he should hang out with Peter in his room every night the two of them were both there and not otherwise occupied. It made sense to Michael, and if Peter had any objections, he hadn't voiced them.

Michael's bedroom was close enough to Peter's that it wasn't a question of distance or convenience. It wasn't a question of cleanliness either, as both rooms were in similar states of disarray, to the point that either man would've been embarrassed to have almost anyone else see it. (The girls who occasionally drifted into Peter's life at this point were not sure what to make of his steadfast insistence on always meeting them at their places, rather than his; at least one of them had become convinced he was actually homeless, his perpetually unwashed hair only furthering this impression.)

The first week they lived together, the nightly meetings bound them closer, in a variety of ways. When Peter had his guitar out, they tried to write songs. If that didn't work out, they tried to learn how to play other people's songs. Something as outwardly silly as a Monkees cover took on new meaning when it became a project undertaken by the two of them.

Sometimes they listened to music, Michael sitting, mute, while Peter pulled out one record after another, criticizing the liner notes on this one, talking about how he remembered reading the review to that one months before he found a copy. He had a story of how he had come to acquire or discover practically everything. Michael never had much commentary to add, unless a Patti Smith album came up, or maybe something by Television or a handful of other New York bands, but he was content to watch and listen, taking in both the music and the way Peter's face lit up when he pulled out a 45 he adored.

Sometimes they just talked, the two men sitting side by side on the bed. About music, school, Athens, the country, the world, girls, their families, mutual friends and acquaintances, the future, the past, anything that happened to come up, or that anyone had on his mind. When drugs or alcohol were involved, which was the case more often than not, the discussion either got more expansive, or more erratic. Michael knew what to expect after a couple of cheap beers or a joint, but he wasn't sure what to expect the night Peter handed him a tab of acid while popping a tab in his own mouth. He stared at the tab, and then at Peter, and then back at the tab as he sat on the bed next to him.

"This is safe, right?" he asked.

"I wouldn't be giving it to you if I hadn't taken it myself before."

So Michael took it, and felt nothing, which Peter said was normal, as it won't kick in right away, almost nothing you take by mouth does. He put _Nuggets_ on the turntable, started telling Michael that Lenny Kaye put it together, said he hoped this wasn't too predictable a thing to trip to but since it was Michael's first time. Michael heard all this, but was only half listening, already wondering with a vague sense of worry how he was going to know it was taking effect. When the second side of the first LP drew to a close, and the record player began to oscillate slightly, he realized he was tripping. An initial wave of euphoria gave way to anxiety, and the sight of a bleeding, flaming eyeball hanging in the air in the bed above them.

"It's ok," said Peter, putting his arms around Michael somewhat awkwardly. "It's not real, whatever you're seeing. It's ok."

Michael wrapped his own arms around Peter's back, holding onto him tightly. "It's not real," he repeated.

He hugged Peter tighter, and the two of them fell sideways onto the bed together, still entwined.

"What do you see if you shut your eyes," asked Peter.

"I see, uh, hold on...patterns."

"Like what?"

"Geometric. Shapes. Like, uh, Frank Stella or something."

"I don't know who that is."

"Artist. It looks like his art."

"I don't know how his art looks though, so that doesn't mean a whole lot to me. But it's better than a bleeding eye right? So keep your eyes shut."

He held Michael tighter, their bodies so close together their foreheads touched. He could feel both their hearts pounding in their chests. Could focus on the spinning circles that appeared behind his own closed eyelids. Could hear the click of the tonearm on the record player as it returned to its original resting place after reaching the end of the side. He could flip the record over, but he would have to get up, and he didn't want to move just yet.

It was probably the LSD making him want to hold & be held by Michael, Peter thought. Yes. That had to be it. Because it wasn't anything other than a comforting gesture, even if it had got a little closer than he'd initially expected it would. They laid like that an hour or so, gradually resuming talking as Michael calmed down, opening his eyes again, and the rest of the night was as smooth as trip as anyone could've asked for.

The next morning was a different story, however, as Michael stopped by Peter's room again before leaving for classes to gripe that his brain still felt as though it were in a slightly different dimension.

"Yeah, it'll do that," Peter admitted, his own brain slightly stuck at the moment. "But I mean, either you schedule it when you don't have anything going on, or you deal with it and sort of get used to it. I still go in to work. I'm going in to work today! Beats having a hangover."

"You're right about that last part, I guess. But you're the one who gave it to me when you knew I had classes tomorrow."

Peter looked away, slightly embarrassed that he'd disregarded Michael's more serious attitude towards his art classes.

"It's not a big deal," Michael said, and reached out to touch Peter's shoulder to reassure him. "Thanks for last night.

Somehow this made Peter even more embarrassed, but he smiled, despite keeping his gaze averted. He waited until he heard Michael's footsteps departing and going towards the staircase before looking up, and wondered what had suddenly come over him.

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't a ship name for these two, is there?
> 
> Obligatory RPF disclaimer: the people are real, and some people, events, and circumstances referenced within the story are real, but everything depicted here is pure fiction and/or invention. This is just for fun, no harm is meant to anyone by it.


End file.
